


I've Only Ever

by squonkfan



Category: Monk - Fandom
Genre: Bondage, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-25
Updated: 2010-09-25
Packaged: 2017-10-12 04:29:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/120793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/squonkfan/pseuds/squonkfan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stottlemeyer discovers where and how he might fit in when it comes to Monk's unique definition of trust.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I've Only Ever

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer:** This is an amateur, not-for-profit work of fiction. No attempt has been made to copyright characters and/or concepts owned by the _Monk_ people, nor is any infringement intended on existing copyrights.
> 
>  **A/N:** Originally posted to AdrianMonkSlash, November, 2004. Thanks to A.
> 
>  **Other formats:** [LJ](http://squonkfan.livejournal.com/540.html)

I don't think I've got it down. I'm missing something here as usual, some integral shard of lens.

"I've only ever...um ah um," Adrian tells me, "with Trudy, before this."

"Yeah, I know it. And the reason I know it is because you've told me a hundred times. I think I've got it down, Monk."

"It has not been a hundred times," he sniffs, and since I'm busy mulling over the other thing, I forget to use the intervening pause to stop him from adding, "It's been eight times. The first time was five weeks ago Saturday, when we were sitting over there on the sofa--you on the left side and me on the right, obviously--and you kept leaning your knees against the coffee table, and I said--"

I put my hand on his shoulder. "Look, how about I just take your word for it, okay?"'

So have I been missing eight different somethings, or just one something, eight times?

**

Everything's gone wrong, and I'm not handling it well. I know that--I know I'm not doing whatever the right thing is. I'm just yelling, because I'm used to it.

"Adrian! Forchristfuckingsake--Adrian! Calm the fuck down!"

I'm over him, scarcely bringing weight, scarcely touching. He's spastic, flailing head and fists like a wild animal, his face crushed and red with sex and obvious terror. He's hard, no fucking ambiguity there, but as soon as he'd felt it happen the shit hit the fan.

Oh God, we weren't ready. God, I'm sorry.

Adrian's eyes are squished shut, and he's making hollow sounds, and it's all completely messed up and I'm getting panicked myself. "Adrian, _quit_!" I bark--and when he next pounds his head into the mattress, I push the flat of my hand against his forehead, firm, to make him still.

His skin and the edges of his curls are sticky and blood-warm. Oh, his head stills; and then his fists still; and his eyes open slowly, and they are ethereal.

"Don't," he whispers, so I start to withdraw; but he grabs for my wrist and gasps, "No, don't--stop. Don't stop. Please. Please--do what you--"

I curve my whole palm around this time, and push his head hard against the bed when he tells me to. His fists lash back out--I steal one with my free hand and bear down on it similarly, amazed, dumbfounded, mystified as he grows calmer and his sounds begin to change.

**

What in the name of Mary? I mean, we're talking about the world's biggest control-freak, right?

"Well--you know," he explains afterward, as we're cleaning him off, "that way, I don't have to worry about anything. As much."

The wet, heated air seeps into the back of my throat. "So...you've only ever," I tell him, and watch very closely as his fingertips ease through the bathwater, "with Trudy, and with...me."

"Of course," Adrian says. When I look up, he is smiling at me delicately. "Leland, of course."

My hands splash around in the tub more than they need to. Slowly, showing him what I'm doing, I hoist them cupped and full over his shoulders and let the water sift free, grateful when he bends his neck and his eyelids flutter down.


End file.
